


hearthwarming

by silentsonata



Series: nice but inaccurate oneshots [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fire, Fireplaces, Fluff, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), crowley is the dumbest and cutest snek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsonata/pseuds/silentsonata
Summary: In which 666 words tell the tale of a cold bookshop and a warm fire."No, Crowley, don't go near the carpet!"





	hearthwarming

“Crowley, no,” Aziraphale said, teeth gritting in an impatient smile as he turned the page.

_Crowley, yes_, the little black snake seemed to say as it slithered into the fire, coming to a rest on the burning coals. _Bookshop cold, fire warm._ The flames crackled in agreement and warm yellow light spilled out like dilute honey onto the timber floor. Crowley hissed in satisfaction as he spread out in a loose coil, his underbelly a rich red and his eyes a sharp yellow, almost the colours that peeked through the smouldering coals.

It was silent for a little while, save for the sound of pages turning and Aziraphale’s breathing. His cocoa steamed beside him, forgotten as he fell into the spaces between the words and was borne away by the flood of sentences, sometimes on its crest, other times wholly beneath it, tumbling hard. He was carried from the Shire to Lothlorien, to Mordor and Isengard, and it seemed that the destination didn’t matter so long as the journey continued. Aziraphale snuggled into his fleece-lined pyjamas, thankful for the quiet.

It didn’t last for long.

Aziraphale was brutally picked up and thrown out of his book by the sound of loud hisses. He looked up to see a black snake hissing in pain from the heat of the coals, slithering off them as quickly as possible. As Crowley emerged, he was a tiny ball of flame, flicking embers from the fireplace up and outwards with his tail. Aziraphale’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, Crowley, don’t go near the carpet!” It was too late. All Aziraphale could do was watch in horror as the little snake rolled in the expensive Persian rug, failing to extinguish the flames on its own body as it transferred them to the carpet. He was unsure as to whether Crowley’s brain (or single brain cell) was cast away because there just wasn’t enough room in a snake’s body for it. Perhaps that’s why the unsuccessful Crowley turned, flaming just like a certain Bentley, and made a beeline for the windows, leaving a black burn streak on the timber floor. “Oh dear.”

When he saw the curtains catch fire, Aziraphale broke out of his stupor. He took the cup of cocoa and dunked it onto Crowley. There was a hiss, but whether it was Crowley sizzling from the heat or just a general sound of dissatisfaction was anyone’s guess. Aziraphale didn’t stop there. He rolled his eyes and summoned two jugs of water, dousing the carpet with one and the curtains with another.

The fire was out.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, dear.” A soft, thick cotton towel later, Crowley was coiled comfortably in Aziraphale’s palm. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” The snake averted his gaze, and Aziraphale sighed, taking a seat in his soft chair again. “You _know _we’ve had this conversation before. You can’t just… go into the fireplace every time you get cold! You overheat every single time,” Aziraphale gestured to the burnt rug, floor, and curtains, “and you end up doing this! You’re lucky I was quick enough to put it out before it spread.”

Crowley made the most apologetic face a snake could make. “Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale softened, “It might be warmer if you turned human again.” Crowley shook his head in embarrassment. “Fine then, you can stay with me. But don’t cause any more trouble, okay? Or else I’ll… I’ll never read to you again!” Cue faster head shaking from Crowley. “Good,” Aziraphale huffed, somewhat proud of himself for taking initiative.

He looked up at the living room, at the black marks starting from the fireplace which extended through it like a map and decided that fixing it could wait till tomorrow. As Crowley curled up around the fourth finger of Aziraphale’s left hand, he looked a little darker than usual; he smelt like ash and chocolate.

Crowley’s eyes closed softly. _Bookshop cold, fireplace warm. Aziraphale, warmest. Aziraphale, softest. Aziraphale, most comfortable._

_Aziraphale, home._

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://silent--sonata.tumblr.com/)   
[Chat to me on Discord!](https://discord.gg/pTcajxx)   



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